The Beauty and the Tragedy
by MuslimBarbie
Summary: It's funny, Amy thinks, that off all the bloody things he could have chosen, the Doctor decided to call her Amelia Pond, the-girl-who-waited. Rory's the one who waits, not Amy. He always does. Except then he didn't. - Amy/Rory, slow-moving Eleven/Amy
1. Part One

Word Count: 5563

Beta-ed by the wonderful obscure_musical

Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. Title/quote come from the song by Trading Yesterday.

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**Part One**

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It's Christmas morning on some planet that may or may not be Earth and Amy's dressed in one of her kissogram costumes even though it's freezing, because technically she's on her honeymoon. Except their Space Cruise was interrupted by a storm cloud filled with space fish and she had to call the Doctor to come and save them. He came, of course. He always comes–sometimes he cuts it too close for her liking–but, in the end, he's always there.

And he saves the day, just like he always does. But now it's Kazran and Abigail's last night together and she's not so sure that he's proud of what he's done.

Rory all but runs out of the snow and into the TARDIS. There's snow in her hair and goose bumps down her legs, and she's absolutely freezing, but she lingers outside with the Doctor. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I'm okay. You?"

It's on the tip of her tongue to nod and tell him _of course_ she's okay, regardless of whether or not she really is. But something in the way the Doctor looks at her stops her. Because he looks as if he's okay, as if nothing's happened, as if he's perfectly fine. But she knows her Doctor and she knows how sensitive he can get and there's no damn way that he's fine. He's faking, hiding, pretending. Running from the truth again.

Amy rolls her eyes and takes a step forward, closing the distance in between them, and wraps her arms around his shoulders. "You're a rubbish liar," she tells him. He tenses up for the slightest of moments, as if he's unsure of how to react, before he softens and hugs her back. "Thank you," she whispers, "for saving us." She realises it isn't something she tells him often.

The TARDIS door swings open. "Your phone was–" Rory stops midsentence.

It doesn't even take the Doctor a heartbeat to pull away and leave another gap in between them. There's some talk about _Marilyn Monroe_ and _not a real chapel_, before Rory goes back into the TARDIS. Amy knows she should follow her husband, but stops and glances at her Doctor instead. He gives her a gentle look. She can see the effect the night's had on him combined with his nine hundred years of wear and tear. But there's something else there, something a bit lighter, a bit kinder. It's gone before she can figure out what exactly it was, but she knows she saw it.

"Come along, Pond." He gives her his usual stupid grin, before he swings the door open.

She smiles and follows her Doctor into the TARDIS.

…

Amy sits in bed, her back against the headboard and a history book in her lap. The Doctor's up to something, she knows it. He has to be. Why else would be continue to do all of these bizarre things? Granted, subtlety's never been his thing, but this is taking it to a whole new level. It's almost like he's trying to attract her attention across time.

Rory lifts the sheets and climbs into the bed beside her. "Are you ever going to put that thing down?"

"I'm trying to figure out what he's up to."

"You don't know that he's up to anything."

"Of course he is. He's the Doctor. I know him."

Rory opens his mouth as if he's going to protest but an alarm from her phone stops him. Amy frowns at him for a moment before she shakes her head and opens the top drawer of her nightstand. She takes one pill from the package and swallows it.

He frowns. "I don't see why you're taking those things."

"Cause the name birth control doesn't give it away or anything."

"But why? Having a kid wouldn't be that bad, would it?"

"It would be if we were in the TARDIS." Because having a child would mean giving up their travels and there's no way she's ready to give that up yet.

"Right. Because we're not in Leadworth now or anything."

"The Doctor will be back. He said he'd be in touch."

"That was two months ago."

"Two months is nothing." Especially when you compare it to the fourteen years she waited.

He stares at her for a moment, a frown on his lips. After a moment, he sighs. "Fine." He turns over so that his back faces her.

Amy rolls her eyes, but puts her book on the nightstand. "Hey, I told you we would talk about it again when we stopped travelling. Things are crazy enough then. The last thing we need is a baby with a time head or something."

He looks over his shoulder, a confused look on his face. "A time head?"

"Shut up, it could happen."

He laughs. She smacks him on the arm, but doesn't protest when he rolls back over and kisses her. He tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. "So when we leave the TARDIS…"

"We'll talk about it then, okay?"

Rory looks at her in a way that clearly tells her he's not okay with it, but he nods anyway.

…

"You can let me fly it!"

"Yeah, or we could go where we're supposed to."

Amy watches the Doctor and River bicker for a few moments more before she realises that Rory isn't beside her. She frowns and turns to find him still standing by the TARDIS doors with this strange look on his face.

"What's the matter with you?"

He keeps staring at her with this bizarre look on his face and she can't exactly tell if he's happy or upset. For a moment, she thinks he's going to tell her something, but he just shakes his head instead and grins at her in this way that only sort of reaches his eyes.

"Nothing. I'm just glad you're okay."

She raises a brow at him. "Of course I'm okay. I knew you and the Doctor were coming."

He frowns, that same look flashing across his face for a moment. She opens her mouth to ask him what the hell is wrong, but the TARDIS shakes around them. Amy grabs a hold of the stair railing to keep her balance.

"Ha!" the Doctor tells River. "Told you I could do it!"

By the time she remembers to look back at Rory, Canton's already back in the TARDIS and they're on their way to the White House.

Later, Amy finds her little red voice recorder in the kitchen rubbish bin.

…

Avery orders his men to stay with Rory and Toby while he and the Doctor go to the TARDIS. The Doctor opens his mouth, probably to give her some advice about staying safe and not getting hurt, but she cuts him off before he can even begin.

"I'm coming with you."

"No, absolutely not. I need you to stay here and keep an eye on the others."

"Rory can do that."

"And who will keep an eye on him?"

"Standing right here." Rory interrupts them.

She ignores him. "He's a big boy; he can take care of himself."

"He's marked with the spot."

"And since there's no water here, that won't be a problem, now will it?"

The Doctor opens his mouth to argue; she crosses her arms and gives him a look that dares him to tell her she can't come. He stares at her for a moment or two before he frowns and sighs. Amy smirks before she turns and gives Rory a quick kiss.

"Stay out of trouble."

"Yeah, sure," he mumbles.

Amy frowns, suddenly questioning her decision. Maybe she should stay with Rory. He does have this knack for getting himself into trouble on their adventures. And Avery and the Doctor are just running to bring the TARDIS to them; they should be fine.

"Come along, Pond."

Still…_still_.

She turns and follows her Doctor.

…

The Doctor sits on the swing below the TARDIS control panel, tinkering with a few wires and wearing the most ridiculous pair of goggles. Amy looks down at him through the glass floor. He acts fine, like his usual smiling self, but she knows he's not. In a weird wibbly-wobbly sort of way, he lost his TARDIS the moment he found her. He can't possibly be okay.

"How's it going under there?" Rory asks.

The Doctor starts to explain, but he uses all these ridiculous terms that don't actually give them any sort of clue as to what he's doing. She doesn't really pay attention anyway. Instead she looks up at her husband, taking advantage of the Doctor's distracted rambles.

"Hey, can you give us a moment?"

He frowns. "Now?"

"I just want to talk to him. See if he's alright. You know how he can get."

Rory looks as if he doesn't exactly want to, but he doesn't say anything. He just stares at her for a moment with that stupid frown on his lips. But before she can tell him to stop being ridiculous, he sighs and nods. She grins and kisses him on the cheek, before he calls out some pathetic excuse to the Doctor and leaves the control room. Once he's gone, she walks down to the Doctor and sits on the steps.

"Are you going to make her talk again?"

"Can't," he answers automatically. She doesn't bother to ask why; he'll probably just give her some long, complicated explanation that will eventually boil down to _spacey-wacey_. "Almost finished. Two more minutes and then we're off!" He goes off on some tangent about Orion's belt for a moment, looking up at the TARDIS fondly. "What do you think, dear?" he asks her.

Amy smiles. "Look at you pair. A boy and his box." And for some reason, she isn't sarcastic or sympathetic. It's sort of magical and so very him. Him and Her. His TARDIS. It's almost like they were made for one another and she thinks she understands that. "You love her, yeah?"

He doesn't answer her. He just continues to tinker with the wires, but there's a soft smile on his lips and that's all the answer she needs. She watches him for a minute or two more before he connects two random wires together. He grins and pulls his stupid goggles off.

"Just about finished. House deleted all of the bedrooms. I should probably make you and Rory a new one. You'd probably like that, wouldn't you?" He nods. "Up the stairs, keep walking and you'll find it."

She sits there for a moment, watching her Doctor. After a moment or two, she nods even though he isn't looking at her, before she gets up and walks away.

He isn't alright yet, she can tell. But, she thinks with a gentle smile, he will be.

…

Amy stares at Rory with wide eyes, his words not quite absorbing. "What? I'm sorry, but _what_?"

She half expects him to start laughing – crack a grin at the very least – and tell her he was just joking. That he was just testing her reaction, which she will still kill him for, but it would be better than this. Anything would be better than this. Because this has to be some sort of sick, cruel joke. He can't be serious. There's absolutely no way that he can be serious.

The guilty look on his face tells her it is. "I'm, uh, staying here."

She scowls. "This isn't funny. Now come on, it's time to go."

"I'm serious, Amy."

"Rory, this is the thirty-first century; that's ten _centuries_ in our future. We can't stay here. We don't belong here."

This time, he doesn't meet her gaze. "I didn't mean us. _I'm_ staying here."

Her heart stops beating and the realisation begins to sink in. "You're…you're leaving me?" It's only then that she notices that ganger, Jennifer; she's a bit away from them, but it's definitely her and she's definitely watching them. It doesn't even take a breath for Amy's shock to turn into anger. "What? For her?"

He gets defensive all of a sudden and she knows she's right. "Leave her out of this."

"I bloody well won't! Rory," she hisses, "she isn't even a real human."

His expression darkens and twists until he resembles a very angry soldier. A very angry centurion. "And you don't understand how that feels, Amy."

The guilt hits her harder than anything she's ever felt, because suddenly she understands. The two thousand years he spent sitting by her side, watching her, protecting her. Loving her. And he wasn't even human at the time. Not technically.

It takes her a moment to find her voice again. She steps forward and touches his arm. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? Let's just go back to the TARDIS, yeah? We can talk about this there."

His face softens and Amy thinks he'll actually do it. They'll go back to the TARDIS and have this stupid conversation they've been avoiding this entire time. It'll probably result in some ridiculous spat, but they'll work through it and it will all be better in the end. Because he's her Rory and that's really how they work. Because he's Rory Pond, the-boy-who-waited. The one who waited for her. The one who promised her he would never stop waiting.

Except she knows that he has.

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry Amy, but I'm not coming back."

"Rory." Her voice shakes when she talks. She's never pleaded for anything before in her life, because she's Amy Pond and Amy Pond does not beg. But if she did, this would be it, because he's _Rory_ and he's not supposed to leave her. "I'm your _wife_."

He looks at her with all the love in the world, as if he's remembering every last one of their memories. He looks at her as if he's looking at the little girl who dressed him in her grandfather's old suit and tie, as if she's the wild girl at all of the parties, as if she's his beautiful new bride. But he doesn't look at her with hope. He looks at her as if he's accepted some stupid idea he's gotten into his stupid head.

He looks at her as if he's letting her go.

"But you don't need me."

And it feels as if the Earth has just gone and shifted beneath her. She glances at the Jennifer. "And she does." The words sound angry and bitter even to her own ears, but she really doesn't give a damn right now. "So that's it then? I'm not needy enough? I'm not helplessly locked away in some stupid box so you don't care anymore?"

"No! Amy's that's not what I said! Just listen to me for a–"

"You know what? Forget it. Stay. Stay here with her. I don't even care!" she snaps and pulls the ring off of her left hand. She tosses it at him and doesn't even wait to see it land before she turns away, her vision blurring.

The Doctor's standing at his TARDIS when she gets there. "Ah! There you are Ponds. About time. What took you–" His smile drops immediately. "What's wrong?" She pushes past him and opens the door.

"Amy!" Rory calls.

The Doctor's fingertips brush against her forearm, somehow holding her in place. "Amy? What happened?"

She looks at him, but refuses to meet Rory's gaze. "Ask him." She pulls her arm back and slams the door shut behind her. Once she's in the TARDIS, Amy doesn't look at the control panel, doesn't think to, she just climbs straight up the stairs and finds the corridor with her bedroom.

Which, of course, turns out to be the absolute worst thing to do. Because he's there–Rory–he's everywhere. He's in the pictures hanging on the walls, he's in the medical books on the nightstand, he's in the left half of the wardrobe. He's in the bathroom mirror, he's in the clothes tossed aside on the floor, he's in the sheets of the bed. He's in the stupid bunk-bed that they always complained about, but never bothered to ask the Doctor to change. He's there in every bloody inch of the room.

And Amy can't take it, she refuses to. So she runs. She runs straight out of the room, through the corridor, and back into the control room. She runs so fast that she nearly crashes into the Doctor. It's only his absurd ability to keep his balance that prevents them from tumbling down to the ground.

He frowns. "Amy…" he mumbles and he looks at her with these sad, sympathetic eyes.

She pushes past him and to the actual controls. "I'm fine." Her voice cracks and her vision blurs. _Damn_. She pushes the tears away with the ball of her palm. "Seriously. So let's go somewhere, yeah?" She doesn't care that she's beyond exhausted and that she really should rest. "How about Space China? There's a Space China, isn't there? Or what about Space Florida. We haven't been to a beach in forever." She fiddles with the TARDIS controls, not caring that she has absolutely no idea what the hell she is doing. A few of things beep, but nothing explodes or sends them crashing or anything like that.

He sighs. "Okay." He doesn't babble at her anymore, but he stops staring at her with that stupid face.

And he doesn't take them to Space Florida, but he does take them to somewhere with a beach. It looks just like a normal Earth beach at night, except for the four triangle shaped moons. The Doctor tells her it's an Earth colony, but she forgets the year the moment he says it. Normally she wouldn't, but today she does. Her mind is too cluttered to keep a hold of any dates right now.

Amy and the Doctor sit along the shore, just far away enough to prevent the water from licking at their shoes. And, for the first time in longer than she can remember, they stay silent; neither of them sure of what exactly to say, both of them too shocked to say much.

It's almost sort of funny, she realises, that Rory, the boy who waited two thousand years for her, barely lasted a year of marriage. Especially since he was the one who wanted it to begin with, because God knows she hadn't. She'd never been the marrying type after all, and she had been perfectly fine with their relationship as it had been. But stupid Rory had been the one who insisted that they get married and she had just gone along with it because, well, why the hell not? It wasn't as if she had wanted to be with anyone other than him and it made him happy and she loved him. She loves him.

She loves him and he left her.

And for what? Because she doesn't need him? Is she not clingy enough for him? What sort of rubbish excuse is that anyways? She's always been the independent sort and he knew that from the start. So what if she isn't the broken, crazy girl like she was when they were kids? So what if she isn't trapped in some stupid box, being shipped from place to place for two thousand years? So what if she doesn't need him now? That doesn't mean he shouldn't be with her. She loves him; he's her husband.

Was her husband.

Probably isn't now, come to think of it.

Bastard.

"Amy…"

It probably should strike her strange that she's here with the Doctor. How many times did she play this scene out with Rory? Okay, so it wasn't on some space beach in some random galaxy in God knows what year, but she can't even begin to count how many times he sat with her, trying to comfort her over some stupid jerk that had promised her something and left her. Part of her wants to laugh, because all her life, Rory's been the one who stayed and the Doctor's been the one who left. Except here she is with the Doctor while Rory's, well, who knows how far he is from her now.

Figures. Life's been a bitch to her ever since she was a child, so why should now be any different?

The Doctor moves his hand to the middle of her back, his fingers barely grazing her shirt, as if he's afraid he'll break her if he tries to touch her anymore. He doesn't say anything, but she doesn't mind. Honestly, she's not sure she wants to hear his bloody optimism right now and she thinks that he knows that.

Amy knows him, she knows that she does, but she's never stopped to consider how much he knows her. Which is pretty ridiculous, because she's always been with her Doctor, so of course he knows her. How could he not after everything they've been through together? He's her Doctor and she's his Pond, end of story.

_Her_ Doctor...

Amy has always been a girl of instinct. Stopping to weigh the pros and cons of a situation have never exactly been her thing. She's a runner, after all, and runners don't always stop to think; they just go. Which is exactly what Amy does. She doesn't think, she just leans over and kisses her Doctor.

He stiffens and she can tell that his eyes are wide open, but he doesn't scramble or try to push her away. But he doesn't respond either; he just sort of sits there like some sort of idiot. He doesn't move, no matter what she does, no matter how hard she tries to get him to. And when she finally pulls back, she can see all of the age and exhaustion and pity in his eyes. Especially the pity.

And she gets it. Really, she does. He only stayed still because he didn't want to hurt her. Because, right now, he pities her more than anything. He doesn't want her. He's the Doctor and he's never wanted her. He's no different than Rory, really.

"Amy, I…"

"Shut up. I get it," she snaps, turning her head towards one of the pink moons so that she doesn't have to look at him. "Forget it, will ya?"

"Amy–"

"I said shut up, didn't I?" She takes a deep breath. "I… just…" the words _take me home_ dance on the tip of her tongue, but she bites them back. Take her home to what exactly? Leadworth? To a brand new, completely empty, Rory-less house? To tell her parents that her husband left her? To tell his parents that their son decided he'd rather stay in the thirty-first century? Thanks, but she'll pass. "Let's just go back to the TARDIS, yeah?"

He doesn't answer; he just keeps staring at her with that bloody look until she finally gets sick of it. Amy gets up and leaves; she digs her key out of her pocket and opens the TARDIS door. She even makes it half way to the stairs by the time the Doctor catches up.

"Amy!"

How many bloody times is he going to say her name? Does he think that'll make things better? "Goodnight Doctor," she snaps back instead, refusing to turn around and face him. She doesn't want to see his stupid face with that damned look right now. She doesn't need his pity. She doesn't need him.

Either of them.

She's Amy Pond and she doesn't need _anyone_.

End of story.

…

The next couple of days pass in an awkward, tense silence. Except that isn't exactly true, because that would require her and the Doctor to be in the same room for more than a few minutes at a time. Which they aren't. They always seem to find something else to do in separate parts of the TARDIS. Until the third day, that is, when the Doctor seems to decide that enough is enough and calls out to her the moment she stumbles into the kitchen.

"Hendrix!" he cries with a grin.

Amy stares at him for a moment, absolutely baffled as to what exactly he's talking about this time. "What?"

"The Hendrix Experience!" he explains. "Brilliant band, they are. Absolutely fantastic. Astounding to see live, which I haven't done in years. Been meaning to for a while now, but haven't had the chance. Until now! So what do you say, Pond? Fancy a concert?"

She agrees, of course, because she knows exactly how ridiculous they're being. They can't keep avoiding each other. And this is why she came with him in the first place, to travel through time and space and do daft things – like seeing a band that broke up before she was even born.

Besides, Amy's always loved the sixties.

The concert is everything the Doctor promised and more. She sings along even though she doesn't know the words and he dances like some sort of drunken giraffe. It goes along brilliantly until Hendrix tosses one of his guitar picks at her and she turns to show it to Rory…only to remember that, _oh right_, he's not here; he's about a thousand years away.

It's about then that Amy decides to have a beer or two.

After the concert, the Doctor uses his psychic paper to get them backstage. He convinces the band that he's some sort of manager visiting from London and that she's his upcoming star, and she can tell they're immediately interested. Especially Jimi Hendrix, who, as it turns around, is quite the sweet talker. Amy just smirks, has another beer, and plays along. And why the hell not? It's not as if she needs to be faithful to anyone now. Besides, flirting has always been second nature to her.

It starts off with a few comments, a couple of winks and sly glances. But the longer they talk, the less innocent their teasing becomes and the closer he gets to her. And the next thing she knows, he presses something cool and metal into her hand.

"Room 212," he breathes into her ear.

The band decides that they're either tired or too drunk to sit around after that. They say their goodbyes and the Doctor stands and shakes their hands; Amy smiles and waves goodbye, but doesn't dare move from her spot just yet. She thinks she might be a bit too shocked to do anything else.

"Let's go Pond." The Doctor claps his hands together once they've all left. It doesn't take him long to start rambling something or other about _space priests_ and concerts, but she's not exactly paying attention. Because, really, the only thing she's focused on at the moment is the little golden hotel key pressed against the palm of her hand.

Despite what her Aunt Sharon thinks, this isn't a situation Amy normally gets herself into. Yeah, sure, she's not exactly the model of a _proper young lady_ or any of that rubbish and, okay, she's never exactly been shy about her sex life, but she isn't some sort of call girl. No one else has ever even had the nerve to do that to her. She's Amy Pond and she does not answer two word invitations to a hotel room.

But the thing is, Jimi's different. He's loud and reckless and wild. He's confident and passionate and an artist. He's probably the most anti-Rory person she's met yet. And he wants her.

"Amy," the Doctor interrupts her thoughts, his voice a bit more serious. "It's time to go, Amelia."

"Actually, I think I'll stay here. You know, with Jimi."

"What?" he asks, his eyes widened and panicked. "Amy this isn't your time period. You aren't even in Britain. You don't even know him. I can't just leave you here. You don't belong here. No. No, no, no. Absolutely not."

"I don't mean forever, moron," she rolls her eyes, "Just for the night. I'll come back to the TARDIS in the morning, okay?"

He finally seems to catch on (about bloody time too). He doesn't get flustered like she expected; he doesn't blush or scratch his cheek in that awkward way. Instead his eyes darken and her ridiculous, goofy Doctor is gone. "No."

Her eyes narrow. "What the hell do you mean _no_? I'm not asking for your bloody permission."

"You're drunk."

"I've had three beers."

"Doesn't matter. It's clearly affecting you. You're not thinking properly. Not at all. We need to get you out of here. Get you some fresh air. Some food and perhaps a spot of tea."

"I'm thinking just fine, thank you very much."

He frowns and she can tell he's getting angry with her. "Amy, we are not discussing this anymore. We are leaving. Now."

Part of her is tempted to just listen to him. He rarely takes that tone with her anymore. He knows better than to tell her what she can or can't do now. Usually, if he really wants his way, he'd rather trick her into it. So she's tempted and once upon a time it would have been enough to get her to do what he wanted. But not now. Not this time. This time is different. So very, very different.

"No." She crosses her arms.

"I am not asking you, Amelia. I tell you what to do and you do it."

"Not when it comes to this. You don't get to dictate who I do or don't spend my nights with. You are _not_ my husband, Doctor."

His eyes widen and in that moment, she can see all of the hurt. The effect her words had on him. And it's almost enough to stop her, to make her change her mind and follow him back to the TARDIS

Except it isn't.

"Right. Of course not," he mumbles, suddenly refusing to meet her eyes. "You have your key, I trust. Good. Okay. I'll see you in the morning, Pond. Erm, goodnight then."

She opens her mouth to say something (what, she hasn't a damn clue), but he's already gone before the words can form. So she's left there, standing alone with two keys: one in her pocket and the other in the palm of her hand. One to the TARDIS and one to the hotel. One to the Doctor and the other to Jimi.

And, for a moment, she thinks she'll do it. Turn right around and follow the Doctor back, because, well, he's the Doctor. And, really, this is probably one of the times she should be a good girl and do as she's told. Except she's never really been the _good girl_ type and she probably wouldn't know how to be even if she tried.

The Doctor's the Doctor and that's all there really is to it. He (usually) knows what he's talking about and how to judge what should and shouldn't be done. But Jimi's different. Jimi doesn't care about the bloody rules or what lines shouldn't be crossed. All he cares about right now is getting her. Because he wants her. He wants her and even when the Doctor doesn't. Even when her own husband doesn't.

That night, she goes home with Jimi Hendrix.

And later, when he's asleep and done and no longer wants her, Amy cries.

…

It's barely five in the morning when she sneaks back into the TARDIS. And that's exactly what she does: she sneaks and it's sort of like she's seventeen and broke curfew again. Except back then, she used to love the thrill of it, the rush of possibly getting caught doing what Aunt Sharon insisted she was too young to be doing. But it isn't like that this time; this time it it's fun or exciting and thrilling and there's no bloody rush. No, this time she sneaks in, because she's actually ashamed.

Amy Pond ashamed of her sex life.

Well, that's certainly a first.

"Good morning, Pond!" the Doctor calls. Amy glances below the TARDIS controls to find him sitting on his swing with his ridiculous goggles on, tinkering with some wires. He barely spares her a wave before he returns to his work. "Breakfast and tea are in the kitchen. Eat and wash up. Big day today! We're going to Sriast. Have I ever told you about Sriast? Marvellous place, that is. Fantastic planet. It's brilliant; you see the entire planet is made of stairs…"

She stands there, staring at him while he rambles on about the planets and the gravity differences and the amount of bloody stairs they have. He grins and laughs and acts as if everything is alright and normal and last night never even happened.

"Are you still standing there?" The Doctor removes his goggles. "Well, hurry up! We have things to do, people to save, adventures to have. There's an entire universe out there waiting for us." He looks up at her with his idiotic grin and his stupid eyes that aren't upset or angry or even disappointed. He looks up at her absolutely un-phased by what she did. As if it didn't mean anything to him. As if he doesn't actually care.

"Right," she mumbles, before she turns and leaves.

And if he doesn't care, why in the world should she?

* * *

**Watch your step, love is broken…**

**Save your breath, your heart has spoken**

* * *

**Note: **I started this back in June. I wanted to write a slower moving Eleven/Amy that doesn't completely neglect Amy/Rory. I also got so tired to the whole "one moment changes everything" idea, so I decided I wanted to mix it up. Instead of one moment changing everything, it changes another little moment, which changes another, which changes another, until something really big happens.


	2. Part Two

Word Count: 8842  
Beta-ed by theonewiththeobsessions  
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. Who belongs to BBC and Moffat; the song and title come from the Trading Yesterday song.

* * *

**Part Two**

* * *

It's funny, Amy thinks, that of all the bloody things he could have chosen, the Doctor decided to call her Amelia Pond, _the-girl-who-waited_. She isn't exactly famous for her patience. If anything, Aunt Sharon used to complain that she was too _impatient_. Because, you see, Amy Pond hasn't waited for anything since she was fourteen and realised that her Doctor wasn't coming back.

So despite what the Doctor thinks, Amy Pond does not sit around, twiddle her thumbs and wait. She pretends, she distracts herself, but she never ever waits. When she was fourteen she told her fourth psychiatrist that she didn't believe in her Raggedy Man anymore, that it was all just her imagination. Honestly, it was all just a load of pretend. She never doubted his existence; how could she? He was more absurd than she could have ever imagined. But it had been seven years and there hadn't even been a sign that he existed. So she pretended. And she distracted herself.

She threw herself into parties and boys and all those fun things teenagers are meant to be doing rather than looking at the stars and waiting for some jerk alien who doesn't follow through on his promises. She distracted herself with her short skirts and her flirting, until Amelia was gone and Amy had taken her place.

And that was when Rory came into the picture. Geeky, awkward, _patient_ Rory Williams. And the stupid moron stayed with her through all of it. Through all of the partying and all of her crazy and every other damn thing that went wrong in her life. He never gave up on her and he always waited for her. Rory's the one who waits, not Amy. And he waits for her. He always does.

Except then he didn't. _The-boy-who-waited_ stopped waiting. He decided that she didn't need him anymore and he walked right out of her life. Just up and left her. And he broke her heart in the process.

But let's get one damn thing straight: Amy Pond does not get hung up over guys. She does not sit around and mourn jerks that don't care about her, who leave her. Because she is Amy bloody Pond and she does not do lovesick. Men get lovesick over her, _not_ the other way around. Because they want her. And she leaves them.

She doesn't always sleep with them. And (besides Jimi) she doesn't ever go home with them. She leaves them before they're done with her, before they've stopped caring about her. Before they've stopped wanting her. Sometimes all it takes is a little flirting, a few touches. Sometimes it's a little more. Sometimes it's a lot more. But she's always the one to leave first. She never lets them leave first, because she's Amy bloody Pond and she refuses to let another man do that to her again.

She never tells the Doctor what she does. She doesn't exactly hide it from him, of course, but she never goes and talks to him about it. Why should she? It's not as if he stupid well cares. Which is funny, because she thought the Doctor would try and stop her or, at the very least, disapprove of what she does. But he doesn't. He just sits on the damned side lines and watches. He keeps an eye on her, waits until she's past her hangover before planning any more adventures, but never any more than that. Yeah, sometimes she catches him staring at her with this stupid strange unreadable expression on his face, but he always wipes it away and puts on his idiotic grin before she has the chance to really think about it. And he never says anything about it. Ever. The man she thought she knew–the Doctor she thought she knew–would have. But he doesn't.

Sometimes she thinks about what Rory would do if he saw her now. She knows he would stop her. Well, he would try. He was always rubbish at getting her to do what he wanted; he always let her have her way in the end. But he always tried. And, at the very least, he would have tried to talk to her about it.

At least the Rory she thought she knew would have. Not that that bloody matters now, because the Rory she thought she knew would have never done what he did. He would have never left her alone. Because, really, she is. All alone. It isn't like anyone actually cares.

Rory and the Doctor. The Doctor and Rory.

Her boys.

At least she thought they were.

But apparently they're not. Not now. Not anymore.

So she keeps going, keeps doing what she does. What she's always done. She smirks, she teases, she flirts. She seduces. She leaves them all wanting her, because she's Amy bloody Pond and everyone wants her. Even if her Doctor doesn't. Even if her husband doesn't.

And if she's spiralling out of control, she ignores it.

After all, it's not as if anyone gives a damn.

…

She doesn't know how long it actually takes for it to happen. Maybe it's a couple of weeks, maybe it's a few months. It isn't exactly easy to keep track of time when you're, you know, travelling through time and space and all that jazz.

But Amy knows exactly what's happened the moment she wakes up and it feels like the TARDIS decided to park herself on her head. Because she has had her fair share of hangovers (especially lately), but not like this. She hasn't had one this bloody awful. So she does the only reasonable thing she can think of: she ignores it. She's Amy Pond after all and she's not going to let something like a rubbish cold slow her down. She's far too stubborn for that. She's Scottish, after all.

So she dresses, brushes her teeth, and stumbles out of her room, down the corridors, and into the TARDIS control room.

"Good morning, Pond!"

She winces. "Mind not being so loud, Doctor? My head's killing me," she grumbles, leaning against the railings in an attempt to support herself.

He pops up in front of her, his normal stupid grin gone. He stares at her, but the moment she opens her mouth to tell him that he's creeping her out, he leans in close and presses his forehead against hers.

"You're hot," he frowns and pulls back.

She gives him a weak smirk. "Finally noticed, did ya?"

He doesn't find it funny. He doesn't even react–no blushing, flustering, or awkward cheek scratches–not even a slight hesitation or a bit of tension. "You're sick."

"I'm not," she protests, taking a step forward…only to lose her balance. The Doctor catches her and she frowns. When did the room get all twisty-turny? "I still have a bit of a hangover. That's all."

"You didn't drink last night."

_Damn_. "I'm fine."

"You're the opposite of fine, Pond. You're extremely not fine at all. You're sick. Go to bed!"

"I'm telling you, I'm _fine_!"

The room gets all wibby-wobbly after that and the next thing Amy knows, the Doctor's carrying her back to her room.

…

She wakes up the moment the Doctor enters her room. She doesn't open her eyes, but she knows it's him. For a man who has snuck up on so many people, he's bloody _loud_ when he walks. Each step he takes closer sounds like a train crashing against her head. She wonders how long it will be before he leaves and she's alone again.

His fingers brush against her forehead. They're soft and cool and feel good against her skin. They rest there for a moment before he removes them. "Amelia Pond," he sighs and she feels his lips brush against her head, "what have you done?" His voice is tender, gentle. Disappointed. As if he actually gives a bloody damn about what she does. As if he actually cares about her. And she hates it.

He's barely made it two steps away by the time she finds her voice. "Why do you do it?"

A heartbeat. "Amy? Are you awake?"

She flutters her eyes open, tilts her head in his direction, and glares. "Obviously."

"Oh thank goodness. For a moment there I thought you might have caught Skrows Disease, in which case the virus would have taken over your body and mind, and killed you."

She doesn't know whether he's serious or just trying to distract her with some of his space babble. She decides that it's probably just the second and she pushes herself up on the bed so that she's sitting. "Why do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"This. All of this. Why bother taking care of me? Why act like you care?"

He frowns. "You're my friend, Amy. Of course I care."

She snorts. "Yeah, sure. For how long? How long's that going to last? How long until you leave me?"

"Why would I leave you?"

She laughs and it sounds bitter and angry and broken even to her. "Because that's what people do. That's what you do, Doctor. You left when I was seven, you left when I was nineteen. You even left for a bit after my honeymoon. That's all you do. You _leave_."

He hesitates. "But I came back. I always come back."

"You didn't come back for the others. All the ones before me. What about them? You left them, yeah? So why do you bother with me? How long before you get bored of me too? Before I screw up and you decide you're done with me? How long before you stop caring and leave me too?"

He frowns and suddenly he's very much nine hundred. He's old and tired and doesn't want to deal with this anymore. Doesn't want to deal with _her_ anymore. "You're sick. Go back to sleep, Amelia."

"No!" She knows she sounds childish and ridiculous, but she doesn't really give a damn right now. "I deserve to know. Doctor!"

He stares at her for a moment and she can see the inner debate flashing across his old eyes. But she doesn't think he'll actually answer her. She knows that he'll just mumble something that sends them in a circle or changes the subject. Then he'll run off like he always does. He'll leave and let her try to justify his action and let her think it will be different. That he won't break her heart like every other damn time.

Thing is, the Doctor's never exactly been the predictable sort.

"I didn't leave them," he mumbles. "I didn't stop caring or get bored. No. No, no, no. Not once. Not ever. Quite the opposite. _They_ leave _me_."

"What?"

"They leave me. My friends. All of them. They grow up and get on with their lives. Their lives without me. So how long do you think, Amelia? How long before you're all grown up and don't need your imaginary friend? How long before you get tired and decide to leave your Raggedy Man for another life?"

"I…" she trails off, unsure of what to say.

He sighs and smiles. Except it's not his normal stupid, annoying smile; it's tired and sad and doesn't really reach his eyes. He steps forward and kisses the top of her head, a hand pressed against her hair. Without thinking, her eyes flutter shut and her breath hitches. After a moment he pulls away. He doesn't meet her gaze.

"Get some sleep, Pond."

He turns away after that. Turns and goes back to the door. "Doctor, I…" she starts. But he doesn't hear her. Or if he does, he ignores her (and she can't even blame him this time), just slips out without another word. And she sits there, staring at the door, like some sort of moron, until her exhaustion takes over and she falls asleep.

_I'm sorry._

…

The next time Amy wakes up, she feels sweaty and gross and desperate for a shower. But what she doesn't feel is weak or tired, and there's not even a whisper of a headache. And if she's meant to double check her temperature, rest some more, conserve her strength, she doesn't really care. She has far more important things to deal with right now.

She stuffs her feet into a pair of slippers before she runs out the door and through the corridor. Except when she reaches the stairs leading into the control room, she finds it completely Doctor-less. She frowns.

"Okay, Old Girl," Amy mumbles, her fingers brushing against the TARDIS walls, "where's the idiot hiding this time?"

The TARDIS hums in response and suddenly there's a new corridor. Amy grins and thanks her before she runs down it. At the end of it, she finds a door to the library. There are a million other doors around her but; somehow, she knows this is the one. And she rolls her eyes; he would come here of all places.

It takes her a few minutes to find him, what with the maze of hundreds of shelves and millions of books (the TARDIS library's the largest one she's even been to. Granted, the one in Leadworth was rather pathetic and she doesn't exactly remember the ones she went to in Scotland, but she still likes to think this one is pretty impressive. How many other libraries have books from every planet in the universe?), but when she finally does, it stops her right in her place. He's crouched over some table with far too many space books, mumbling to himself something about _cheese planets _and _space mice_. His tweed jacket is tossed aside on some chair and he's wearing another ridiculous fez. And he looks so stupid and so alien and it's so absurdly perfect because it's just so…_him_.

She smiles.

"Oi, Doctor!" she calls, crossing her arms over her chest and walking over. "What in the hell have you got on your head?"

He looks up at her with his stupid, bright grin and straightens his stupid hat. "It's a fez. Fezzes are cool."

She rolls her eyes. "You're so _weird_." She hops up and sits on the edge of his desk. "I'm starving. Let's get something to eat. What was that you were mumbling about a cheese planet?"

He grins even more and starts telling her all the little details about the planet. She grins back and listens to every last bit until he's talked himself in a circle and barely even remembers what he was talking about to begin with. She rolls her eyes and calls him an idiot, but laughs anyways and jumps off the desk.

"Alright then. While you get us there, I'll have a shower."

"Good, you smell foul."

"Hey!" she shoves his shoulder and he grins back at her.

She laughs again and turns. She barely makes it ten steps before she remembers why she came in the first place. She spins on her heel and runs back over and wraps her arms around him. He doesn't miss a beat and hugs her back, holding her close.

"Thank you," she whispers. "For everything." She kisses him once on the cheek, but doesn't wait for his response before she pulls back. "And I'm sorry," she says. His eyes soften and he doesn't say anything, but she knows she's forgiven. She waits a beat longer before she smirks and adds, "But there's no way I'm going out in public with you if you have that thing on." She grabs the fez off of his head.

"No, Amy!"

"Sorry Doctor, but until you get me some proper food, the fez stays with me." And then just to annoy him, she puts the stupid thing on. Only his head's so massive that the hat practically swallows her head.

"That's not fair!"

"Aww, didn't anyone ever tell you that life's not fair? But don't worry, I'll take good care of it," she winks and then smirks again. "Well, maybe." She turns and runs out of the library. And when she hears the Doctor call after her, she just laughs.

And for the first time in longer than Amy cares to admit, she thinks that maybe, just _maybe_, they will be alright.

…

The Doctor tells her he's taking her to Rio. He promises that he's got it right this time. That it can't _not_ be Rio. Really, he swears by it. On his name as a Time Lord. So, _of course_, they end up on some strange planet on the other side of the universe about three thousand years in her future.

If only she had a pair of boots for every time something like this happened.

Except, as it turns out, this time it isn't so bad. Because he lands them on Lenigeg, a planet where every inhabitant has brown hair and only brown hair. There's not a splotch of any other colour in sight. And, as it turns out, on this particular planet, having red hair is a sign of divinity. Here gingers are, naturally, worshipped. And really, Amy sees absolutely no problem with this. It makes perfect sense, if you ask her. Why wouldn't you worship a redhead?

The Doctor, on the other hand, doesn't find the planet so amusing.

"Aww, is someone jealous because their hair is brown?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Amy." He stands there with his arms crossed and a frown on his lips.

"I think you do. I bet you secretly wish you were a ginger."

"What? No. No, no, no. Absolutely not. Never. Not once. Not even in the slightest."

But Amy doesn't believe him. "Oh my God, you _do_!" She laughs. The flabbergasted look on his face clearly tells her that she's right. "You want to be ginger, don't ya?"

"And why would I want to be ginger?"

"Because brown is boring and gingers are cool, obviously." She smirks. "Admit it, Doctor. You have ginger envy."

"Shut up."

Amy absolutely refuses to leave after that. For no other reason than to tease her Doctor, because they've been to God knows how many planets where he's been the special one. Planets where he stands out and everyone knows who he is. But this time, he's just a normal, boring bloke; another face in the crowd of brunettes. And, really, it's about time he learns what that feels like.

And if she gets pampered at the same time, who is she to complain?

It's all fun and amazing, until dusk settles. Because it's only at about that point that the Doctor and Amy realise that redheads are precious on this planet not because they're divine, but because they are the ultimate sacrifice to the divine. Yeah, apparently they don't have an actual word for sacrifice in Lenigeg-ian, so the TARDIS translator didn't pick that up.

"Any brilliant ideas, Doctor?"

"Just one," he grabs her hand, "run!"

Which, really, is a rather awful idea considering they're clear across the city from the TARDIS. But Amy isn't exactly filled with any other ideas, so they run. And running from a mob intent on killing you? Yeah, not as easy as you would think. She stumbles over at least three times and even properly falls at one point. But they make it back in the end, and the Doctor sends the TARDIS off through time and space.

They stand there, their hands on the TARDIS controls, and stare at each other for a minute until neither of them can take it and they start laughing.

"You know, Pond, there are no planets where brunettes are offered as a sacrifice."

"Shut up. Gingers are cool and you know it, Doc-_tor_."

"So is brown hair."

"Pur-_lease_. You wish you were ginger." Amy takes a step forward and a sharp pain shoots through her ankle. She winces. "Shit."

The Doctor immediately helps her hobble to chair where the moron deduces that she sprained her ankle, probably when she tripped whilst running from the mob. It only took her this long to notice, because of all the adrenaline rushing through her system.

He laughs. "Amy Pond," he kisses her on the forehead, "you are a fighter!"

It isn't a serious injury. A bandage and a bit of rest and it should be fine. Except when they get to the infirmary, the Doctor realises he has absolutely no idea where a spare bandage could be.

Amy snorts while he tosses items around, and, careful not to put any pressure on her ankle, she goes to the third cabinet and pulls one out. She goes back to her seat, props her foot up, and wraps it up. The Doctor stares at her for a moment.

"How could you have known that?"

She rolls her eyes. "I married a nurse. I was bound to pick up a few tricks along the way."

He suddenly looks a bit uncomfortable. "Erm, right. Of course."

It's the first time, she suddenly realises, that either of them have directly mentioned Rory since he left however long ago. They've spent the entire time either dancing around the topic or completely ignoring it all together.

Amy frowns and stares at her ankle. "He's not coming back, is he? Rory. He's… he's really gone, isn't he?"

The words feel awkward and strange to say, but they don't feel wrong. Okay, so they don't exactly feel _right_ and it isn't as if she's suddenly okay with it and everything's sunshine and happiness now. It still hurts, but not as much as it did before.

Because, you see, this time the Doctor's right: Amy Pond is a fighter. She always moves on. Sometimes it's hard, sometimes it's almost unbearable. Sometimes it takes more than she cares to admit, sometime it takes her ages to do it, but, in the end, she always moves forward. Because she's strong, because life moves on and Amy refuses to let it leave her behind. She's a fighter through and through; she always has been. She always will be.

"Amy…"

"It sucks, okay? A lot. But," she looks up at him, "it sucks a little less now."

He stares at her for a moment, before a proud grin tugs at his lips and he kisses the top of her head. She laughs in response and looks back at him with a real, honest smile on her lips. Because she isn't completely alright yet, but she knows she will be.

…

Amy can't even begin to count the number of planets she's been to, much less the number of people she's met. And almost all of them have had a reaction to her Doctor–some of the already know and fear him, some hate him, some have no idea who he is until he's left and changed their entire lives–but not a single one of them even begins to compare to the reaction they have when they land in the Gamma Forests.

The moment they step out of the TARDIS, they're met with a crowd of cheering people. Because, as it turns out, they've met the Doctor once before when he saved them. And ever since then, the people of the Forest have been awaiting their hero's return. So the moment they heard the whooshing of the TARDIS, their hearts were filled with joy.

A celebration is thrown for the occasion. Loud music fills the air and the smell of freshly cooked food mingles with the scent of the trees. It's a festive, joyous celebrations and the Doctor laughs and jokes and talks to the people of the Forest as if they are old friends, but Amy can only take so much of these random people knowing her. After an hour or so, she escapes the celebration and wanders through the Forest until she can't hear or smell the celebration anymore.

She finds a small river, hidden amongst the trees, about fifteen minutes away from everything else. A smile tugs at her lips; she slips her shoes off, sits along the bank, and dips her bare feet into the flowing water.

"Are you lost?" A voice behind her asks. She turns to find a girl, maybe only a few years younger than her, with dark hair and curious eyes. "I'm sorry, it's just you're nowhere near the celebration," she explains.

"I know," she says. "That's kinda the point," she smiles before she turns back. It only takes the girl a moment or two before she walks closer. "What about you? Shouldn't you be back at the village celebrating like the rest of them?"

The girl chuckles a bit and takes a seat beside Amy, but doesn't answer her question. "Sorry about that. It's just, well, nothing ever happens in the Forests. Thirty seconds of the Doctor's the only thing worth remembering around here."

"Yeah, he does that." She rolls her eyes and kicks her feet in the river a bit. "He likes to show off. I'm Amy, by the way."

"Lorna Bucket."

"So Lorna," Amy turns to face her, "why aren't you back there with the rest of them? You want to meet the Doctor, don't ya?"

"I have." A soft smile tugs at her lips, but Lorna stares down at the river. "A long time ago though. I was just a little girl." She pauses and frowns. "I doubt that he even remembers me."

Amy stares at her for a minute. "I was seven when I first met the Doctor."

Lorna turns to her with wide eyes. "You've been with him a long time then."

"No," she shakes her head, "he came back for me."

Lorna studies her for a moment, a sad smile lingering on her lips. "You must be very special," she says. A bit of guilt swells in the pit of her stomach and Amy suddenly finds it very hard to meet the other girl's eyes; she locks her gaze on a tree instead; it's spring here, but the leaves are as red as the Doctor's fez. After a moment Lorna takes a breath and continues. "He mentioned you before."

Amy hesitates for a moment. "Did he now?"

"Yes. He said he was travelling with friends. Except…"

"Except what?"

"He, well, he said you were on your honeymoon. But only the two of you are here. I guess I was just expecting…" _Expecting to see your husband._

Amy frowns. It's on the tip of her tongue to tell Lorna to sod off, because that's none of her damn business. What happened between her and Rory is between her and Rory; not some random Gamma Girl. It's less of a fresh wound now, but that doesn't mean it's completely healed. But, at the same stupid time, she knows Lorna doesn't actually mean anything by it. She's only curious about the Doctor, about the people he travels with. Lorna's a girl who has been waiting for her Doctor to return to her.

Amy takes a deep breath. She knows what she has to do; she sure as hell isn't happy about it, but she'll do it, because Lorna deserves to know what took Amy so long to figure out.

"He left me. My husband. We were travelling with the Doctor together, but then we went somewhere and he decided to stay."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean–"

"Oh, shut up. I don't want your pity. That's not why I'm telling you this," Amy snaps. "Thing is, I don't blame the Doctor. I know it isn't his fault, but I don't think Rory would have left if we hadn't been travelling with him. It's just, well, those sorts of things happen when you're with the Doctor. It isn't all happy and being daft; it's dangerous and sometimes you lose more than you get, you know? And it isn't forever. No matter what you like to think, you have to leave at some point. I'm not the first person he's travelled with and I won't be the last. 'Cause when you're gone, he'll move on. He'll find someone else. And you have to do the same." She meets her eyes. "You need to live without the Doctor in order to live with him."

Lorna stares at her, with widened eyes. Amy can't exactly blame her; she did just unload an awful lot on her. Even she's surprised with how much she said, but she doesn't exactly regret it, because she _almost_ wishes someone had told her. Had warned her once upon a time. Who knows how the story would have played out then.

"Okay then," she shakes her head and pulls her feet out of the river. "I should head back."

Amy returns to the celebration to find her Doctor wearing some sort of ridiculous wooden hat. A present from the Gamma people so that he will always have a bit of the Forest with them. It's sweet, she knows, but there's no way she'll let him wear that anywhere else after this. Then again, knowing the idiot, he'll find another hat before long.

She doesn't see Lorna again for the rest of the celebration. She keeps an eye out for her, but the Gamma Girl is nowhere to be seen. In fact it isn't until the sun's set and Amy is on her way back to the TARDIS that she spots her at the very back of the crowd.

"I'll, uh, be right back."

"Amy?" The Doctor stares at her, confused.

"Just a minute!" she calls before she begins to push her way through the crowd.

Lorna smiles at her the moment she makes it to her. "I was afraid I would be too late."

"To say goodbye to the Doctor?"

She shakes her head. "To say goodbye to _you_." Lorna holds up a small, leather-bound journal. "The pages are made from the branches of our oldest trees. Legend has it that, no matter what happens, the writer will always be able to read their words here."

Amy frowns. "I don't understand. Why are you giving this to me?"

Lorna smiles. "So that you too will always have a part of the Forest with you."

Amy stares at her for a moment, before a soft smile tugs at her lips. She takes the journal. "Thank you."

"No, thank you, Amy Pond. You gave me a lot to think about."

By the time she returns to the TARDIS, the Doctor is staring at her with a slightly confused expression. Amy grins at him, but doesn't give him any sort of explanation before she enters the space ship. It isn't until they've left the Forest and are drifting through time and space that the Doctor even opens his mouth. She cuts him off before he has the chance.

"Do you remember that night, a little while ago, when I was sick?"

"Of course I do. Why?"

"You asked me how long it would be before I grew up and didn't need you anymore."

He immediately looks uncomfortable. "Amy–"

"Well, I don't need you anymore, Raggedy Man."

He stiffens and gets this strange unreadable expression on his face. "Okay," he mumbles, before he turns away from her and begins to tinker with the TARDIS controls.

She rolls her eyes and grabs his arm, stopping him. "Oh my God, will you stop being so dramatic. I wasn't done talking."

"But you said–"

"I know what I said and I mean it: I don't need you. I don't know how long it's been since I've needed you, but I don't. I lived most of my life without you. I don't need you. And I don't need Rory either. He left and you know what? I lived. It sucked for a while, but I survived. I'm moving on with my life. I don't _need_ him and I don't _need_ you. Get it?"

He stares at her for a while, before he nods. A soft smile tugs at his lips; it isn't exactly his brightest smile–this probably wasn't something he particularly wanted to hear–but she thinks he understands. "Got it."

"Good. But Doctor?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't need you, but that doesn't mean I'm planning on leaving anytime soon."

A grin immediately spreads across his lips. She laughs a little and steps closer to him, wrapping her arms around him. He hugs her back.

That night, when she's dressed in her favourite flannel pyjamas, Amy sits in her bed and flips through her journal. The pages are soft and hard at the same time, and feel a bit different from any other paper she's ever touched. She stares at it for a while, contemplating. Finally, a smile tugs at her lips and she digs a pen out from her nightstand.

…

In the Oyuncak Galaxy, there's some planet with a name so weird that even the Doctor has a hard time pronouncing it, where all the inhabitants are stuffed animals. Actual stuffed animals, complete with fuzzy outsides and stuffing insides. The Doctor says it has something to do with some type of radiation from their third moon which stabilises their life force. Now, she's seen her fair share of weird stuff travelling with the Doctor, but living stuffed animals without any organs or anything? She thinks that this one might just take the crazy biscuit. But, she guesses, at least it will be a relaxing trip.

So, of course, it turns out that there's some sort of ridiculous civil war going between the stuffed bears and the sock monkeys over the land that receives the most moon radiation and something to do with _Teddy Bear Elitism_. Because apparently teddy bears are racists. Or stuffed animal-ist, as the Doctor calls it.

Yeah. Never a dull moment with him, is there?

He fixes it in the end. Well, sort of. He leaves them with a temporary truce while they sort out the smaller details for their treaty. All in all, Amy thinks it might be the most ridiculous trip she's ever taken. And, surprisingly, one of the more exhausting ones.

"Goodnight, Doctor," Amy yawns once they're back in the TARDIS, floating in the vortex.

"Goodnight, Pond," he calls back as she walks up the stairs.

She makes it halfway down the corridor, when she suddenly spots the new door. There's nothing that separates it from the other doors; it's just as wooden and plain as all the others. Except it has been quite some time since Amy first stepped onto the TARDIS, since she first started walking down this corridor, but she has never seen _this_ door before. The corridor has twenty four doors, twelve on the right hand side and twelve on the left; and it's always been that way. Except this door makes twenty five. A twenty fifth door that just sits there and stares at her. Dares her to open it. And, well, Amy's never been one to back down from a dare.

But when she opens the door, she forgets how to breathe.

It's a bedroom, just another stupid bedroom, one of the hundreds in the TARDIS. Except the walls are blue, and the bed is big with loads and loads of pillows, and there are bottles and bottles of nail varnish lined up on her dresser. The wardrobe's filled with short skirts and plaid shirts and boots and scarves. Her Gamma Forest journal's sitting on the desk and there's even an autographed White Stripes poster pinned over the bed. And Amy almost thinks it's more than she can handle.

"Do you like it?"

She spins on her heel and finds the Doctor standing in the doorway, his arms crossed and a soft smile on his lips. She stares at him for a moment, the realisation clicking in her head.

"You did this?" she asks. "You made me a bedroom?"

"Well, yes."

"A brand new bedroom. Just for me?" A room that she's never shared with Rory.

He frowns. "If you don't like it, I can get rid of it."

"Don't you dare!" she half glares, half grins at him. His smile returns. "It's perfect, but how did you know I like the White Stripes? I even had a poster just like that one, except mine disappeared when I was fifteen…" she trails off, because the Doctor suddenly looks very guilty. "You're kidding me. You? You _stole_ my White Stripes poster?"

"Borrowed, Amy. I borrowed it. I returned it in a timely fashion."

"Eight years!"

"Erm, right. Sorry about that." He scratches his cheek awkwardly.

She rolls her eyes, but laughs. After a moment she asks, "When did you…?"

"The night of the Hendrix concert. While you were, uh, busy. I thought you might want a…_different_ room."

She frowns. "I don't understand. That was ages ago and I just found it."

"It was waiting for you."

"What?"

He smiles softly. "The room only appeared when you were ready for it, Amy. It's been waiting for you, so to speak. I just wanted it to be ready for when you were."

She stares at him with widened eyes. He had made it all that time ago. He's been taking care of her all this time. Even back then, when she thought he didn't care–when she was so sure that he hadn't cared about what she was going through–he had been trying to help her. He'd been watching out for her. But more than that, he waited for her. He waited for her to let go, to move on. He was patient with her through her drinking and random boys and all of her crazy. Him. In his own strange way, the Doctor, _the-man-who-never-stops-running_, waited.

He waited for her.

"_You must be very special."_

"Amy? Are you okay?"

She shakes her head and grins at him. "Shut up, of course I'm okay." She steps forward, closes the distance between them, and wraps her arms around him. "Thank you," she mumbles, burying her head into his shoulder.

He hugs her back and she doesn't need to see him to know he's smiling. "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"Gotcha."

Thing is, Amy knows he does.

…

She loves painting her nails. It's always given her some sort of strange comfort. They haven't stayed the same colour for longer than a week since Aunt Sharon gave her a set of five varnishes for her tenth birthday. There's no set time for when she paints them; sometimes it's when she feels horrible, sometimes it's when she's on top of the world. And it certainly wasn't a habit she stopped when she started travelling with the Doctor. In fact, she thinks she might have gotten worse about it.

So whenever they are resting in between adventures or trying to figure out where next to go, she sits on the swing below the TARDIS controls and paints her nails. She's barely put the lid back on her TARDIS blue varnish when the Doctor pops his head down below the deck and grins at her like he's just discovered the most brilliant thing in the universe.

"Jelly babies!"

"What?" she asks.

"Jelly babies," he repeats, showing her a bag of sweets.

She stares at him for a minute before she laughs and stands up. He laughs too and pulls himself up. She stuffs her nail varnish into her jacket pocket, runs up the stairs, and meets him at the controls.

Jelly babies, it turns out, are the Doctor's favourite sweet. _The Cosmic Confectionery__of the Time Lords_ he calls them (never mind that they're _human_ sweets) and they lay on the ground with their feet on the TARDIS controls and share a bag, while he tells her about the time he threatened an entire Sevateem tribe with a "deadly jelly baby." She tells him she doesn't buy it (she does; if there's one idiot mad enough to do it, it's her Doctor) and he responds by telling her more of his adventures with the jelly babies.

And somehow, after he's talked them around in circles, it turns into him lecturing her about fixed points in time.

"There are certain moments in time that are always meant to happen. It's rather difficult to tell if you aren't a Time Lord though," he explains. "Certain things may seem like a fixed point–like Pompeii, for example–but they actually aren't. It's a rather tricky concept, really," he tells her, popping another jelly baby into his mouth. She frowns up at the ceiling. "Amy? Are you alright?"

She hesitates for a moment before she takes a deep breath and looks at him. "Rory and I, we were never a fixed point, were we?" It isn't a sudden realisation or a stupid, annoying epiphany. It sure as hell isn't one she's really acknowledged before this, but it isn't anything new.

Her Doctor suddenly looks a bit uncomfortable. "Erm, well, no. But most relationships aren't. Very few are, in fact. It's extremely rare, you see."

"What about us? Me travelling with you, that was a fixed point, yeah?"

His expression softens, but he doesn't look at her. He just stares up at the ceiling, a distant look on his face. After a while, he turns to her with a soft smile on his lips. "Would you like a jelly baby, Pond?" he asks, holding up the bag.

He doesn't answer her question, but doesn't really need to, because Amy thinks she knows.

She smiles back and takes a handful of sweets.

…

Amy knows he's up to something the moment he tells her to dress warmly. The Doctor has never–not once–given her any indication to the weather of where they're going. Although she suspects that's because _he_ usually has no idea where they're going (like the time he promised her Rio and took them to 2020 Wales instead). Still, she knows when her Doctor's up to something.

"Why? Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise." He grins, running around the controls.

She follows him. "Since when do you do surprises?"

"What are you talking about, Amy? I'm the king of surprises! Surprises are my specialty. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's surprise someone."

"Uh-huh, sure." She crosses her arms over her chest. "Seriously though, where are we going?"

"If I told you that then it would be a rather rubbish surprise, wouldn't it? So Pond," he taps her on the nose, "get your coat."

Part of her wants to argue with him, because he can't just _not_ tell her where they're going. Granted, she doesn't always know where they're going, but he's never refused to tell her before, which means he's definitely up to something. And usually that means trouble. Except this time, his eyes are bright and cheerful and he's looking at her with that stupid grin, so she doesn't think it'll actually be trouble.

Finally she drops her arms and sighs. The Doctor grins at her and she can't help but smile back; it's hard for her not to when he looks at her with that stupid face of his. She turns and goes to her room. When she returns–dressed in a pair of trousers, with her favourite blue coat and red scarf–she finds him standing in front of the TARDIS doors with a ridiculously bright grin on his face.

"Okay," she stands in front of him, "now what?"

"Christmas Eve, 1995."

"Christmas?"

"Christmas _Eve_." He corrects her and grabs her hand before she has the chance to ask any more questions, and leads them out the doors. And the moment her feet touch the snowy ground, Amy gasps because she knows exactly where they are.

Scotland.

All of time and space at his fingertips, and he picks Scotland. And not just any bloody Scotland, _her_ Scotland. The very same Scotland she grew up missing but hasn't seen in nearly twenty years. Except he said it was 1995, which is the same year she left it for England. 1995, the year she prayed to Santa that she could go home for Christmas.

And he did it. The Doctor bloody went and did it for her.

His hand rests on the middle of her back and she feels herself relax under his touch. "I've always…how did you know?"

It was the very first place she had wanted to go when the Doctor told her he had a time machine. It was all she could think about that first night when she sat outside waiting for him. Even when he didn't show up, she insisted that he was coming back and he would take her to Scotland. He would take her home.

Her parents and Aunt Sharon wouldn't have any of it. She figured out years later that they thought she made up the Doctor as a way to cling to her hometown. They told her that Scotland was a part of their past and that they lived in England now. And so when she was fourteen and she stopped believing the Doctor would come back for her, she let go of any hope that she would return to Scotland. Ever. Even when she and Rory had been planning their honeymoon, they hadn't even discussed the possibility.

Returning to Scotland, well, it's been out of the question for nearly ten years. No one–not her parents, not Aunt Sharon, not even _Rory_–knew how much she still wanted to return. So how did he? How could the Doctor possibly know?

He smiles gently. "Because, believe it or not Pond, I do know you." And the way he says it is so kind, so loving, so bloody honest that she knows he means it. He stupid well means it. Her vision blurs. "Amy?"

"Shut up," she snaps, swatting away the tears with her fingertips. "I'm fine." She laughs, still a bit in shock. "We're in Scotland. Scotland!" He grins stupidly and nods. "Come on then Doc-_tor_. This time it's my turn to show you around," she grins, takes his hand, and leads him away.

Amy shows him everything. Granted the town is about the size of Leadworth so there isn't a whole lot to show him, but they make the best of it. She takes him to her old school and points out the spot on the playground where she had her first kiss with David Andrews, the cutest boy in her class. She shows him the little café where her dad used to take her to get ice cream every Friday after school. They visit the neighbourhood where she grew up and she tells him the story about the first time her mum taught her how to fry food.

Then, when it's a bit darker and everyone else in the town is curled up at home, she takes him to her favourite park. The Doctor finds the giant Christmas trees behind the swing-set and immediately begins to lecture her about the history of the Christmas tree and one time he and "Nick" had a bit too much eggnog. And normally Amy would listen, but while he's distracted, she gets a devilish idea she can't possibly pass up.

"Ah!" he cries, his arms flailing out stupidly when the snowball pins him square on the back of his head. She laughs loudly as he tries to shake the cold powder out of his hair. He glares at her, but there's a mischievous grin on his lips. "Consider this war, Pond!"

She rolls her eyes. "Right. I'm _so_ scared."

He grabs a handful of snow off the ground. "You should be. Trust me, I'm the Doctor."

They spend the next hour chasing one another and tossing snowballs until there's no snow left undisturbed on the ground. At one point she chases him up the ladder of the slide, but doesn't think to give him chance to ride down before she follows him. She crashes into him and they both fall to the ground, laughing. They shift so that they can lie beside each other more comfortably on their backs, but they don't move after that.

"Thank you," she says later, after they've settled down a bit and are gazing up at the stars. "I mean it."

"You're welcome. Frankly, I'm surprised you never asked."

She shrugs. "I didn't think you'd want to."

He frowns. "Why wouldn't I?"

"You're kidding, right?" The look he gives her clearly tells her that he isn't. She rolls her eyes and props herself on her elbow so that she can see him better. "Look at this place, Doctor. It's small and boring and there's nothing here other than park benches. It isn't exactly your style, you know?"

He doesn't answer her at first. He just lies there quietly, staring up at the sky. And just when she's about to sigh, roll her eyes, and get up, he looks at her with this _look_ on his face. This stupid look that isn't really new, but it's a bit different than the way he usually looks at her. It's softer, gentler, and more, well, she won't even go there.

"Amy Pond, when have I ever been able to deny you?"

He doesn't exactly argue her point, but she thinks that that's exactly _his_ point. It doesn't matter that this place isn't his style or that he normally wouldn't come, because he would do it for her. He _did_ do it for her. Despite all her crazy and the way she treats him sometimes, he would do anything for her. He already has and he always will. In his own stupid Doctor way, he's telling her what she's wanted to hear for longer than she cares to admit.

She doesn't think, doesn't stop to consider the consequences or how he'll probably react. Amy just leans down and kisses him.

It takes a heartbeat for her to realise that this may not be the best idea and that this hasn't exactly ended well the last two times she tried. But just before she can pull back and apologise, he responds. It's gentle, soft, but it's definitely there. The Doctor kisses her back.

He smiles a bit embarrassed when she pulls back and looks at him. He opens his mouth and starts to babble some awkward mumbo-jumbo that doesn't make any sense. It's actually kind of cute. A clock chimes in the background. She laughs a little and pecks him on the lips.

"Merry Christmas, Doctor."

He grins. "Merry Christmas, Amy."

She smiles and lays her head on his shoulder. After a heartbeat, she feels his hand slip into hers.

Amy falls asleep there, lying in the snow with her Doctor.

…

She wakes up in front of her bedroom door. Only it's sideways. It takes her a heartbeat to realise that she's cradled in the Doctor's arms. When did he get so bloody strong? He certainly doesn't look it. This is the second time he's carried her to her room. Not that she's complaining. She could definitely get used to this; she smiles and closes her eyes again.

The Doctor somehow manages to open the door without shifting her too much. He lays her down on her bed and she feels him brush a strand of her hair behind her ear. After a heartbeat he kisses her forehead, his lips lingering for a moment longer than usual.

"Goodnight, Amy."

She opens her eyes and catches his hand as he turns to leave. He looks back at her, his eyes a little widened, apparently surprised that she's still awake. She looks up at him with a soft gaze; it's the most open she's been with anyone since Rory. Honestly, it makes her a bit nervous, but she's always been a risk taker.

"Stay."

His eyes widen even further and he looks nervous. "Amy, I don't think–"

This time she rolls her eyes. "I don't mean like that, idiot. No funny business, I promise. Just sleep."

He stares at her for a moment, his gaze relaxing. "You do realise that I don't really _sleep_? At least not in the way humans do."

"You do realise that I don't really _care_? Pretend."

He continues to stare at her for a few more seconds before he sighs, shakes his head and takes his jacket off. She smiles and slides her head onto his shoulder, the edge of his stupid bowtie tickling her nose.

A beat or two passes. "Well, this is different. Not bad different–good different. Interesting. New. Not _new_-new. But–"

"Oh _God_," she groans, "You're not going to talk all night, are you?" He chuckles and she lifts her head up so that she can look into his eyes. She kisses him once, quickly and softly. "Goodnight, Doctor."

He gives her a gentle look and she settles back in her spot on his shoulder. His arms wrap around her waist and she feels lips against the top of her head. After a moment, he lets out a small, relaxed sigh. "Goodnight, Pond."

She falls asleep with a smile on her lips.

* * *

**Take this heart that's barely beating  
And fill it with hope beyond the stars**

* * *

**Note:** There is a third planned for this, however, you should know that I started this fic back in June, right after AGMGTW aired. I posted these two chapters in July and August. _I still have not written the third and final chapter to this fic_. I don't know when I will do it; hopefully I eventually will, but other projects due have my priority right now. That being said, at least I don't leave you with a cliffhanger.


End file.
